


A Fine Prospect

by MediumSizedEvil



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:14:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24165688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MediumSizedEvil/pseuds/MediumSizedEvil
Summary: Mac Peralta loves going to the park.Time flitters by like a magic lantern show in which the protagonist grows just a little each slide, and the result appears seamless to the eye.
Relationships: Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago
Comments: 10
Kudos: 37





	A Fine Prospect

Mac Peralta first visits Brooklyn's Prospect Park in his stroller with his mom and dad. He's asleep for most of the time, but when he wakes up he looks around and stares in awe at the birds and the leaves and the squirrels all coming to say hello, welcoming him to this magical world. He will come back often after that, each time finding new things to admire and experience from his stroller, in the baby carrier or on a soft blanket. He even tries the grass but decides he doesn't like the taste.

With the changing of the seasons he grows and grows like the ducklings in the pond he goes to feed with Uncle Charles. In the fall he's jumping in the leaves with his dad in his little red rain boots. They make a big fort and roll around and laugh and tickle until it suddenly starts pouring with rain. He jumps in every puddle so he's absolutely drenched and miserable on the way home. But it was worth it.

A little later he lies on his back in the snow and stares up at the skeletons of bare trees hosting an angry flock of crows. There are snowball fights with frosty mittens and icy noses, and wobbly attempts at skating at the ice rink that make his smiling parents almost burst with pride. He gets pulled home on his sled like a little prince, with steaming cups of hot chocolate and marshmallows afterwards. But the snow eventually melts away and little flowers boldly poke their heads up from the ground. He lies down on his tummy to look them in the eye and marvel at the sticky pollen on his finger.

In the summer he spends many hours at the playground with Auntie Roro, who always lets him jump higher and run faster until he learns the hard way. Mama teaches him how to play Poohsticks on the little wooden bridge over the stream. Later that day she digs up a small volume from the bottom of her overflowing bookcase and stares at it for a long time. That night she first reads _The House at Pooh Corner_ to him before bed. It quickly becomes his new favorite.

Uncle Raymond patiently teaches him to fly a kite, and tells a long story about some guy called Benjamin Franklin that he only understand half of but that doesn't matter, he still has a great time. Another day Uncle Kevin takes him to the Peristyle and explains the difference between Doric, Ionic and Corinthian columns, which also doesn't interest him one bit, but he nods politely because he really likes Uncle Kevin. Then they take Cheddar to the dog beach and play fetch. Uncle Kevin has to carry the fluffy Corgi home because he is too tired to walk. He is getting older now, but that is the way of things.

There are many picnics and barbecues with old and new friends, where he plays softball in the sun with Nikolaj, Ava, Lucia and all his Santiago cousins. There's always ice cream that melts way too fast and gets sticky all over his fingers, but who cares? They laugh and play and wash their hands in the little stream by the waterfall.

One day Nana Karen takes him to the historic farmhouse and he learns to make a beautiful candle for his mom's birthday. She smiles when he gives it to her, and for some reason she cries a little when she lights it later that evening. Maybe she's thinking about grandpa, but he doesn't want to ask. He just cuddles up to her and holds her hand for a little while.

When he's old enough to go out by himself he often rides his bicycle on the quiet leafy lanes. He climbs trees with his friends, and they share sticky caramels in the crown of an old oak. On the descent he slips on a wet branch and falls down all the way to the ground, breaking his wrist. But it wasn't really that bad, he assures his worried mom later. All his friends sign his cast and say he's super cool because he didn't even cry, unlike some people.

He's too old now to ride the carousel, even though he secretly wants to, but he never says no to a game of catch with his dad. It becomes a quiet Sunday ritual, a firm beacon in their busy lives. They don't speak much but they say a lot. For many things there simply are no words, like the earthy smell of the woods after a rainstorm, or the heart-stopping joy at seeing little rabbits play in the twilight.

He tries his hand at sketching the natural world but gives up eventually, even though Nana Karen says he has talent. He convinces himself he is simply not cut out for the artistic. So now he's just lying on the grass with a book, but not reading it, and contemplates the meaninglessness of existence, as one does at that age. He can't help feeling jealous of everyone who doesn't have two cops for parents and is not a son of the law. It's so hard to be good, he thinks with long-haired ennui. So maybe he surreptitiously throws some rocks in the lake and puts silly hats on statues and soap in the fountain once or twice.

Sometimes he still plays a lazy game of baseball or frisbee with his friends, and when the downpour starts they seek shelter from the elements in an overgrown pedestrian tunnel. But soon enough the sun is out again, and behind a gnarly tree trunk with weathered branches is where he gets his first kiss. Followed by more shy glances and fumbled touches, and lox and schmear bagels on a park bench beneath a flowering trellis.

The Long Meadow is always at its most peaceful early in the morning, when he runs and does push-ups with Uncle Terry on the dewy grass until he's ready to quit. But he doesn't. Over the years the park bears silent witness to many of his trials and triumphs. And then there is that quiet little spot in the rose garden where he goes down on one knee. Another triumph, thankfully.

Time flitters by like a magic lantern show in which the protagonist grows just a little each slide, and the result appears seamless to the eye. Until one day he brings his own boy for the first time and smiles. “Welcome to the park, pal.”


End file.
